Sheen on the Silk - Anne Perry [106]
“I cannot tell you,” Constantine repeated. “To do so would betray others. Some things I know, some I guess. Would you have me speak that aloud, were it your heart and your secret?”
“No,” she said hoarsely. “No, of course I wouldn’t. I’m sorry.”
“Anastasius …” He swallowed hard. His skin was very pale. “Be very careful of Helena, of all of them. There is such a lot that you don’t understand, life and death, cruelty, hatred, old debts and dreams, things that people never let go of.” He leaned farther toward her. “Two men are dead already, and a third exiled, and that is only a tiny part of it. Serve God in your own way, heal their ills, but leave the rest of it alone.”
To argue with him would be pointless and unfair. She had not told him the truth, so how could he understand? They were each trying to reach the other, he failing because he was bound by the sanctity of confession, she because she could not trust him with the truth of why she could not let go of any of it.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Thank you for listening.”
“We shall pray together,” he replied. “Come.”
She was at the Blachernae Palace, having treated one of the eunuchs for a bad chest infection and been up with him all night until the crisis broke. Then she had been sent for by the emperor over a minor skin irritation. She was still with him when the two papal legates from Rome, Palombara and Vicenze, were granted an audience and were shown in, as was customary, by the Varangian Guard. They were always there, strong men with lean, hard bodies, dressed in full armor. The emperor was never without them, no matter the time of day or night, how formal or trivial the occasion.
Anna stood a little apart, not included, yet neither had she been given leave to go. She recalled her unpleasant journey to Bithynia with Vicenze, during which Cyril Choniates was nearly killed.
All the ritual greetings were exchanged, well-wishes that no one meant. Beside Anna, Nicephoras was watching every inflection while outwardly seeming merely to wait. Only once did he glance at her with a momentary smile. She realized that he would remain here, judging both words and silences, and afterward give Michael his counsel. She was glad of that.
“There is still some dissension among certain factions who do not see the need for Christendom to stand together,” Vicenze said with barely concealed impatience. “We must do something decisive to prevent them from causing trouble among the people.”
“I’m sure His Majesty is aware of that.” Palombara glanced at Vicenze, then away again, both humor and dislike in his eyes.
“He cannot be,” Vicenze argued impatiently. “Or he would have addressed it. I seek only to inform, and ask advice.” The look of contempt he shot his fellow legate was sharp and cold.
Palombara smiled, and that too was a gesture without warmth. “His Majesty will not tell us everything he knows, Your Grace. He would hardly have led his people back again to their city, and kept them safe, were he ignorant of their nature and their passions, or lacking in either the skill or the courage to govern them.”
Anna hid her smile with difficulty. This was becoming interesting. Rome certainly did not speak with a single voice, although it might be only ambition or personal enmity that divided them.
Palombara looked at Michael again. “Time is short, Your Majesty. Is there some way in which we might assist? Are there leaders with whom we might speak, and resolve some of their fears?”
“I have already spoken with the patriarch,” Vicenze told him. “He is an excellent man, of great vision and understanding.”
For half a second, it was clear in Palombara’s face that he had not known that. Then he concealed it and smiled. “I don’t think the patriarch is where we need to concentrate our efforts, Your Grace. Actually I believe it is the monks in different abbeys who harbor the greatest reservations about trusting Rome. But perhaps your information is different from mine?”
Two spots of color stained Vicenze’s pale